


Five Years Is Pretty Good, But...

by verbosins



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Romantic Fluff, Slightly suggestive, Undertale Valentine's Day 2017 Collection Challenge, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, there's pizza and mortal kombat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9687674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbosins/pseuds/verbosins
Summary: Sans done fucked up.





	

You told him not to do it.

 

“Valentine's Day is coming and I don't want anything fancy,” you'd half-seriously warned him over pizza a few days ago. “I don't want jewelry or candy or whatever. I really don't want anything at all. I want a quiet night in and that's it.”

 

You were thinking you'd rather just spend the day in bed. Yours or Sans', it didn't really matter, but cringey recollections of Valentine's Days past (thanks, awkward high school suitors) keep you from feeling anything but cynicism toward the holiday.

 

His grin suddenly became so mischievous at your declaration that you hardly noticed as cheese from the bite he'd just taken stretched from between his teeth and plopped quite unattractively back onto the slice. His only response was to then dramatically try to kiss you with marinara sauce all over his face while you shrieked with laughter.

 

But really, that smile was such a worrying sight that you haven't been able to get it out of your mind.

 

Since then, though, he hasn't brought it up, which you take as a good sign. Monsters apparently have a similar holiday, but it's celebrated on the total opposite end of the calendar, so he's probably forgotten about the human version altogether.

 

You'd love to forget it too, but your friends and the public in general won't let you. Garish pink and red cacophonies are exploding from every store window you pass and from every commercial you flip through. Everyone keeps asking what you and Sans are planning on doing. You calmly inform them and that you and Sans are planning on lazing around at home as usual. It's confusing how legitimately offended everyone seems to be about the fact that you and your boyfriend of several years aren't celebrating. Maybe you should start telling people that the holiday is against monster religion or something.

 

Not that chocolates and roses aren't nice – you just don't expect things like that from Sans to somehow prove his love for you. You know his love better than that. His love is in the way he rolls over and cuddles up behind you in the morning and in the comfort of his warm bones pressed against you. It's in the way he helps you out of and into your coat when you go out. It's in the way he dutifully shares the chores with you. It's in the way he's always reluctant to let go of your hand. It's in the way he gently gnaws on your fingers absentmindedly and wonders at the properties of your flesh. It's in the way he sighs your name and tangles his fingers in your hair when he comes. It's in the way he's seen your worst faces and heard your worst words and still wants to be around you.

 

Shit, you're getting misty-eyed just thinking about it. It's been a hell of a ride, these last few years. And sitting at home on the couch, eating good food, watching something funny with him and hearing his cute laughter sound like the best way to celebrate that.

 

\----

 

“wanna get somethin' to eat?” he asks out of nowhere in the middle of a round of Mortal Kombat.

 

“Sounds good, I'm starving,” you reply, hopping up to grab your shoes. The two of you usually just walk down to Grillby's to satisfy these cases of post-dinnertime munchies, so your sneakers will do just fine.

 

“i was thinkin' that new seafood place,” he calls from the couch as you root around in the hallway closet. “the one downtown. hear it's got a good view of the ocean.”

 

Oh, shit, that sounds fancy. You groan inwardly, but Sans never makes direct suggestions like this. High heels it is.

 

\----

 

Fancy doesn't even begin to describe this place.

 

You and Sans both flinch when you open the menu. Just scanning the first page, it's clear that nothing is under $50. There is literally a $1000 bottle of wine. “Driven by scents of brioche and chalk”...what even?

 

Sans tells the waiter in the fakest polite voice you've ever heard that the two of you will need a few minutes to decide what to order. While the guy huffs away, Sans hides behind the menu and mouths “let's get the fuck out of here” at you. With a hasty nod, you leave the waiter a tip for his trouble and scoot back out onto the street, avoiding eye contact with the hostess.

 

And that's how you ended up at a burger joint in your nicest dress.

 

“Much better,” you sigh as you slide into the beaten-up leather booth. Sans sits across from you and instinctively takes your hand on top of the scarred linoleum table. He looks so good in that suit jacket , even though it's wrinkled from years of non-use, that you can't help but think slightly dirty thoughts and grin stupidly.

 

“how long's it been now?” he suddenly asks, with an uncharacteristically serious face that throws you off guard. He rubs your knuckles with his thumb, looking pensive while you puzzle it out.

 

“Shoot...well, it would've been before I got the new car...and I'd just started my job...sooooo, five years, give or take?”

 

The reality of that number weighs down on you both and facilitates an introspective silence. Sheesh, has it really been that long since you and Sans started dating? Looking back, it feels like nothing. It seems like only a few months ago that you both were wholeheartedly accepted by each other's families and friends and started creating something truly outstanding together.

 

You realized pretty quickly that you felt like you could talk to him for a year straight and still not hear every fascinating, dorky thing he's got stored in that limitless mind. It became clear that he would talk you through any problem and (only when asked) offer some of the soundest advice you'd ever heard and that always seemed to cut through your doubt and confusion. He showed you that he would go to any lengths to help you whenever you needed him, any time and for any reason. And it was when you realized all of this that you knew you were in love, possibly for good.

 

There have been squabbles, of course, but they were usually resolved so quickly and earnestly that you can't remember them. You've taken vacations and whispered secrets and held each other up and generally had an amazing time since then.

 

Five years. Just, wow.

 

And that's the last you speak of it after the waitress distracts you by taking your order. You talk instead about what the two of you should do this weekend, swap work stories, flirt heavily. He sticks a french fry in one eye socket and pulls it out the other, making you shoot milkshake out of your nose. The usual.

 

Stuffed with cheap food and feeling sleepy, you're glad to start making your way to the car. Visions of curling up with Sans in bed and staying there all day tomorrow make you smile. Pulling off these painful shoes seems like a good start. Or at least it would, if Sans weren't holding you in place by the hand.

 

He says your name quietly and you turn, half-expecting him to be doubled over, forcefully regretting that giant cheeseburger he inhaled a few minutes ago. But he's standing right beside you, ramrod straight and staring at you. You search his wide eyes for a moment, finding nothing, before happening to glance down at his other hand.

 

That's a...oh god, you know what that is. Little black box. That's a...you swallow slowly...oh god, Sans, this better be a joke.

 

“five years is pretty good,” he begins, his baritone voice completely level. His eyes never leave yours and it gives you chills. “but what say we make it forever?”

 

He opens the box. And there, glinting in the light of the shitty orange fluorescent streetlamp, outside a shitty burger dive, is a goddamn...fuckmothering...ring.

 

A ring.

 

A _ring_! It's...it's...the most beautiful ring you've ever seen. With his bony thumb and index finger, Sans plucks it from its velvet cushion.

 

You're blubbering now, mostly frantic sentence fragments (“Sans, you-” “I-I can't believe-”, etc.) while he slides the gilded band onto your finger. Both his and your hands are quivering. Your mascara's going to be everywhere and people are staring but it's all so laughably unimportant right now. You don't even roll your eyes when Sans says “Engage” in his best Patrick Stewart voice and chuckles at his own joke.

 

“gotta say, this wasn't the reaction i expected, considering what day it is,” he says with a smug lilt that draws your attention. You look up from admiring your new accessory. That smirk can't be good-

 

Oh, shit.

 

You can't believe you forgot.

 

Today is Valentine's Day.

 

The urge to punch him right between the sockets fills you, but your eyes are too full of tears so you'd probably just miss anyway. He took you somewhere fancy _and_ gave you jewelry just to spite you, the bastard. You settle for making your best reproachful face before gathering your now-fiancee into an embrace. You can't help but laugh through the dry sobs.

 

After a few moments you get tired of the perplexed glances from strangers on the street and motion to the car. Everything is still a blur and the only thing piercing the haze is the glint of this freakin' rock that you can't seem to stop staring at.

 

Sans is saying something about how he should have asked you to be his Player 2 while you guys were playing video games earlier, but you give him a look and a lasting kiss that makes him discontinue the thought.

 

“Shut up and get in the car, loser. We've got a wedding to plan.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the lame title.
> 
> Thanks to the lovely [Sansylicious](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sansylicious/pseuds/Sansylicious) for tagging me in this challenge!
> 
> I regret not writing that Sans pranked reader with a bagel or something before giving them the real ring.
> 
> Come shout at me on [my Tumblr](http://verbosins.tumblr.com/)! I draw stuff too sometimes.


End file.
